May 2012
When you're young, you never think you're young. And you always, always think you're right.
About everything.
At least, that's how it was for me.
I stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom of my room at the waterside Marriott here in Seattle. This is where they're having the reunion. I look at myself for a long time. I'm no longer young – but at thirty-two – I'm not exactly old either. My skin is still damp and pink from the hot shower, my heart is still pounding. It hasn't stopped.
Not since I got off the plane at Sea-Tac.
Maybe not since I actually made the decision to come.
What the fuck was I thinking?
I shake my head, knowing full-well what I was thinking when I decided to come to this thing. I'm not here to reminisce with old friends from college. While I enjoyed my college experience thoroughly, I didn't make the lifelong friends that other people talk about.
I had one friend.
One.
Edward Cullen.
Have you ever had a friend who was the entire world?
When I was a little girl, I used to sit for hours watching Anne of Green Gables. My dad, Charlie, hated it. It was too "girly" for him. But he would watch with me sometimes.
Anyway, Anne had a bosom-friend, Diana. And as a child, I always wanted that kind of friendship. But I was quiet and shy to the point of uncomfortable. I was always reading and studying, and I didn't make friends very easily. Or at all for that matter.
I always wanted a friend like Diana.
A bosom friend.
Well, at a party my freshman year at the University of Washington, I met my bosom friend. Only she wasn't a raven-haired beauty. She wasn't a she at all.
.
.
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September, 1998
"Are you drunk?" a quiet voice asks beside me.
I close my eyes, and my hands grip the red Solo cup tighter. There's something about this voice – his voice – that is soothing. But somehow, it makes every hair on my head stand on end.
"No," I say, laughing and peeking up at the boy standing beside me. He's beautiful. Like, really beautiful. And his messy hair is red and kind of all over the place. Normally, someone like him would have me running back to my dorm without even a look back. But there's something off-putting about him. Disarming even. I decide in that moment, it's his smile. Soft and big and wide. He seems approachable. Beautiful, but approachable. "Why? Are you drunk?"
"No," he laughs softly. "I've just been watching you all night, and you've had like three of those red cups, so I figured you must be drunk by now. I mean, you're not really that big."
I laugh. Loudly. It scares me a little because I'm never this – I don't know – this free with anyone.
"First of all," I tell him, looking at him all serious-like, "Telling a girl that you've been watching her all night is kind of weird. Secondly, it's even weirder when you ask her if she's drunk. Thirdly…"
"There's a thirdly?" he says, grinning.
"Yes, smart-ass," I say, punching him in the arm. Wait. Did I just touch this boy I don't even know? Yes, yes I did. Shaking my head, I try to get back to my third and last point. "Thirdly…I'm only drinking Coke. So, no. I'm definitely not drunk."
He laughs, but looks a little mortified.
"I didn't want you to be drunk," he says. "I was just worried…I don't know…you sort of seem a little lost."
His eyes are genuine.
His smile even more so.
"I know where I am," I tell him softly, feeling an unexplainable flush in my cheeks.
"I know that," he says, sitting down beside me. I didn't tell him he could, but I'm happy that he did. "I was just saying…thinking…this doesn't seem like your kind of thing."
I try not to be insulted.
I mean, he doesn't really know me.
"And what do you think my kind of thing is?" I ask him boldly. Well, boldly for me.
He smiles at me.
I return it without thinking.
"I don't know," he says, the playfulness gone from his voice. "But I'd like to find out."
He turns in his seat to face me. He runs his fingers through his hair.
"I'm Edward by the way," he says, looking into my eyes. And it doesn't go unnoticed that he's actually meeting my eyes. And I'm meeting his. And even more than all that – none of this feels strange.
"Hi, Edward," I say, trying his name out. I like it. I like this. "I'm Bella."
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.
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May, 2012
I'm still lost in memories, as I finish lining my eyes. I think about how different I look now. And I hate myself a little for wondering what he'll think of me if he sees me tonight. I hate myself a little more for knowing what I want him to think.
He's probably not even coming.
But even as I think it, I know I hope it's not true.
The meet and greet is being held in the cocktail lounge downstairs. I slide on a little black dress that hugs my curvier curves in all the right places. And I step into a pair of fuck-me-heels that I have no sensible reason to be wearing.
But none of this is sensible, is it?
My hair falls over my shoulders, and I tell myself that I'm not wearing it down because that's how he used to like it.
And looking in the mirror one last time, I think that this is it. I've come here for a reason – even if I refuse to admit it out loud. I want to know – I need to know if I made the biggest mistake of my life ten years ago.
Or was it last month?
I step outside the room, closing my eyes and taking a shaky breath as the door clicks softly behind me.
I hope the answers are here.
I hope…I hope that he is here.
And there's only one way to find out.
.
.
.
A/N
Reviews are love.
Please leave me some.
Thank you all so much for the overwhelming response to chapter one. The fact that you even read at all means the world to me.
Thanks and love to the most wonderful, beautiful and amazing pre-readers ever. They make me less neurotic and much less scared about posting something new. Caren, Jaime, Kourt, Laura and Raina…ILY all.
And of course, all the love and thanks in the world to my beta and friend, Marvar, who has been with me since the very beginning. Loving and supporting me before anyone else. I am forever grateful for everything she does and everything she is.
See you all in the morning!
